


A Study in Sexuality

by cadkitten



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cumshot, Desperation, Desperation Play, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Porn, Watersports, Wet Dream, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’d been weeks since John had suggested that Sherlock had something of a fetish. Why on earth the other man had even brought it up was sincerely beyond Sherlock’s frail grasp of the other’s psyche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Sexuality

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, read the tags. I don't want any drama because you had no idea what you were getting into, lol. Tags are important!!!  
> Beta Readers: sakura_ame

It’d been weeks since John had suggested that Sherlock had something of a fetish. Why on earth the other man had even brought it up was sincerely beyond Sherlock’s frail grasp of the other’s psyche. But nonetheless after the third time in a little under a month that Sherlock had narrowly made it to a restroom in time, John had been leaning against the wall outside the WC.

The moment the other had come out, he’d elbowed him in a gentle sort of fashion and chuckled. “Sir Holmes... I do believe you have a kink.”

The shock of it had been that John only ever called him that when he was trying to be teasing and yet serious at the same time. It was one of the cues that Sherlock had learned John used on purpose. At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to it and had brushed it off as an unnecessary comment and had simply gone back to talking about the case they’d been out on.

But now, weeks later, Sherlock had found a bit of personal time to sit down and sort out what his colleague and flatmate could have possibly meant. Hours of research later, he finally thought he understood the other’s comment. Sitting back from the table, he reached to run a hand over his abdomen, feeling the familiar pressure there and realizing that, once again, he’d waited until the very last minute. He was so full of urine that he was certain if he hadn’t been at home, an accident would have been forthcoming. He pressed lightly, his head tilting slightly to one side, his face a mask of confusion as the pain swept through him in a way that he certainly wasn’t opposed to.

Perhaps John had been more correct in his comment than he’d initially realized. He shifted slightly, leaning back and unfastening the single button on his vest, shrugging it off and tossing it over the back of the chair next to his own. Next, he un-tucked his shirt, carefully unfastening buttons until only the two center ones remained closed. And then his fingers moved to his belt, loosening it and then removing it completely, adding it to the other chair. He reached down and thumbed open the button of his dress slacks, tilting his head back, his eyelids fluttering shut.

The pressure was intense, but still in the realm of pleasure as he shifted his hips up, feeling how it shifted the piss inside his bladder. Alright... so there was more than just a little bit of something to what Watson had said, for certain. He slid his hand down and rubbed it over the bulge in his trousers with a soft groan. This wasn’t something Sherlock did often... not even the pleasuring himself part of it. To him, it was something he did when he simply couldn’t stand it any longer, when his body begged for the release that he hadn’t been giving it to the point of near madness. Sometimes he’d just wait until his body would release nocturnally just so that he didn’t have to deal with it himself. Such things were of no consequence to him in most cases. Sex wasn’t something he focused his time on.

Sure... he was a normal man in many ways. Even the great Sherlock Holmes had fantasies. But the truth of it was that he found it a waste of time to allow himself more than a fraction of a second wasted on such efforts. But right then... he couldn’t care less. His priority was to figure out what was going on in his mind, to understand why he’d been intentionally holding his piss until he almost had accident after accident. As it currently seemed, it was his body’s way of granting sexual gratification without his consent.

The act of holding _aroused_ him. This was very much evidenced by the fact that his cock was half hard in his trousers already and that it had nothing to do with the volume of urine in his bladder right at that moment.

He flicked his gaze to the door, his ears picking up the various sounds on the other side. No sign of John yet. He breathed out a soft sigh and reached for his zipper, drawing it down and then pulling the fabric back on both sides to reveal the tented material of his undershorts. Yes... he was very definitely aroused, his cock hard, and his pulse aflutter.

With a sigh, he gave in, flicking open the button on his shorts and lowering the material down either side of his rigid flesh. For a long few moments he stared at his own cock as though it were somehow foreign to him. “Why is it that you do this to me?” he asked it quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down at himself. “I have no need for such things.” Yet, contrary to his words, his fingers wrapped solidly around his shaft and he began to stroke.

A moan fell free of his lips, his hips pushing up as he gave in to the pleasure. He’d never been very good at holding back once he was giving this to himself. He waited so long in between that it always felt fantastic and he couldn’t even begin to stop his reactions to what he was doing. The chair creaked under him as he strained upward. “O-oh!” His hand moved faster, his face already flushed with desire. He was hard... so very hard; to the point that he was certain it wasn’t good for him.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing himself everything he wanted for this singular amount of time. Images of John the few times he’d caught him at such things flitted through his mind and he let out something that closely resembled a whine, his fingers tightening on his shaft as he pumped. “John,” he breathed out, his free hand gripping the table top so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“Sherlock,” came the slightly stunned answer only a few seconds after he’d voiced his flatmate’s name.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he gasped, struggling to sit upright, his fingers fumbling to decide what to do first. His body still wanted to finish his session, his hand refusing to entirely stop stroking his cock, his length ruddy with desire, his balls tight and drawn up close to his body in preparation of his release. And his free hand moved between things almost uselessly, trying to close the laptop, cover his notes, and yank his clothing back into place in some strange dance that didn’t accomplish a single thing.

Finally, he raised his eyes to John’s face, shame written across his own in a way he couldn’t even begin to cover. The normally stoic Sherlock sat there, utterly at a loss as to what came next in this bizarre turn of events.

For his part, John managed to pull himself together relatively quickly. He stepped to the side and picked up Sherlock’s notes, scanning over them quickly and then placing them back down on the table. He drew himself up to his full height and pursed his lips for a moment before speaking. “And am I correct?”

Relief slid through Sherlock. This... he could deal with. Talking about his kink, as John had put it, was easier than trying to answer why he’d been wanking off in the kitchen. He finally got his hands to cooperate, one just holding his still aching cock under the cover of his shirt, the other moving to close the laptop firmly, pushing his notes a bit away from himself. “Yes, I believe you are.” He allowed himself a single flick of his thumb over the head of his cock. “I’ve done extensive research and I am firmly of the belief that my body has taken it upon itself to use this as an outlet.”

Watson leaned one hip against the table. “Because you rarely do this,” he gestured at the other’s crotch.

“Yes.” A bit more blunt than he’d anticipated, but it was the truth.

“I see...” John crossed his arms over his chest and took up staring at the floor between his feet. “You called my name. I have my own deduction in this, but perhaps you’d care to share your own first.”

Sherlock’s mouth closed and he simply stared up at Watson, his face a blank slate.

“Mmm... fine.” John sighed, pushing himself away from the table and coming around to lean over Sherlock’s chair, his hands braced on the arms of it, his eyes on Sherlock’s own. “You and I both know you do not desire the flesh of a woman. And I know you’ve watched me at times.” At Sherlock’s incredulous look, John snorted. “Don’t look at me that way, Sherlock. You know as well as I do that you’ve intentionally walked in on me before and then stood there watching me.”

“I’ve done no such thing.”

“And my grandmother’s a panda.” He leaned in further and then smirked, his eyes dropping to Sherlock’s lap, where the other’s hand was once again moving over his cock. “You’re jerking off because I’m talking to you like this. You dirty fuck!”

Sherlock didn’t bother denying it this time, his body too worked up and his release too close. Instead, he pushed the fabric of his shirt out of the way and arched up into his own hand, giving himself strong, firm strokes.

“That’s right,” John breathed out quietly. “You can cum for me, Sherlock. You need it so badly, don’t you? It’s been too long.” He shifted, his hand coming to run down the other’s abdomen and then through the thatch of curls at the base of his cock. “How long? One month? Two?”

“Eight weeks, four days,” Sherlock gasped out, his hand moving quicker over his length, his body almost rigid with desire now. “John, I-“ he cut himself off with a grunt, his hips snapping up and his hand forcefully stroking down on his cock as he began to cum. Spurt after spurt of the thick, white liquid shot from his dick, splattering across his shirt, his pants, and then oozing down his cock all over his hand as he kept it up for a few more moments.

“That’s right, Sherlock... give all of it... cum,” John whispered out, watching the other spill his load all over himself, his own dick tenting his pants as he watched. He shifted slightly closer, his lips brushing the other’s ear. “You make me need to cum.” With a swift movement, he unzipped his pants and pushed his shorts of the way, allowing his cock to poke out of the material. “Look at me, Sherlock... look at how fucking hard I am.” His fingers curled around his own cock and he began stroking quickly, eager to catch up.

Sherlock let out a soft whine, his hand still stroking his cock, keeping it hard for the time being.

“Tell me if you like what you see.”

“Yes, John.”

“Yes, John, what?” Watson’s lips curved up in a smirk, his eyes alight with a passionate fire that he was certain Sherlock had never had the pleasure of seeing.

“Yes, John, I like to see your hard prick,” Sherlock hissed in response, his hand momentarily speeding up on his own cock and then stopping as he let out a sound that clearly said he was providing himself too much stimulation.

“Then touch it. Do to me what you did to yourself.” It wasn’t like John to be so forward, but he found that the sight of Sherlock getting his rocks off in the kitchen had turned him on to a degree he was almost loathe to admit.

A few seconds slipped past and then, finally, Sherlock’s cum-slicked fingers wrapped around John’s cock and began stroking him, John completely abandoning the task so he could simply feel the other man. His hips arched forward, a groan freeing itself from between his lips.

The next few minutes were spent with Sherlock diligently stroking Watson off, his fingers tight around the other’s length, his actions clearly built to work to the top as quickly as possible. Not that John minded in this case, wanting to feel his release at the hands of his skilled flatmate tonight.

“Sherlock,” he ground out, his fingers tightening on the arms of the chair, “I’m going to.”

“To what?” Sherlock asked, a certain amount of sass in his voice, a clear indicator he knew and just wanted to hear it.

“Cum,” John growled out a second before his hips jerked forward, his cock hardening to the point that he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t cum right that instant. And then he was, each shot of his cum jetting out across Sherlock’s pristine white shirt, sullying the perfectly stoic man beneath him. 

“You’re,” Sherlock breathed out in awe.

“Yes,” Watson returned, “oh, yes.” The way he said it was pure pleasure, even as his body shuddered and the last few drops of cum fell from the tip of his cock onto Sherlock’s shirt. “All over you.” Reverent words spoken in the most aroused tone of voice.

It was a few moments before Sherlock let out a grunt of an entirely different sort, his hand leaving John’s cock and returning to his own, clutching at it and shuddering. “Oh god, John, I’m-“

“-going to piss yourself,” John finished for him, something in the way he said it saying he didn’t find this to be such a bad thing. 

Trepidation swept through Sherlock’s body as his gut clenched horribly. It was painful, the once dull ache now searing pain, the need more urgent than ever before. It was as if he’d forgotten about it for so long that he just couldn’t stand it now that he had his focus on it. This was it… this was the end of his last shred of ever-so-fragile self-control. He was going to piss himself and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His hips pushed up and he let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry of dismay.

“It’s okay,” John whispered quietly, his fingertips sliding over Sherlock’s jaw. “Do it... you’ve been aiming to do it for months now. Just... sit here until you can’t hold it any longer and then let it flow.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of Sherlock’s cheek. “I will think no less of you for it. Everyone needs their release, Sherlock.”

The words did things to him he didn’t really want to admit, his gut clenching and then quivering as he did his best to hold it in, but making no move to get up to go to the restroom. No... he really wanted to experience this. He wanted to feel how it felt for a grown man to piss himself. He tucked himself back into his shorts and did the button on them, stiffly reaching for the chair arms and holding onto them with an iron grip as he rode it out.

Heat slid through his body and he squirmed, little cries leaving his lips every few moments as he got closer and closer to losing it. “John,” he barely whispered out.

“It’s okay...” Watson responded, nuzzling at his jaw again before pulling back enough to let Sherlock look into his face. “It’ll all be okay.”

Sherlock’s hips jumped up and then settled again, his thighs moving constantly as though their position might give him some relief. And then, “Oh God.” It was all he said before the distinct hiss of him pissing filled the air for a moment. His hand came down to clamp over his cock and he managed to stop it, but his left pant leg was already darkening with piss. “I couldn’t... I need... oh, John, I’m gonna piss!”

“Yes,” John breathed out against his lips before he claimed them in a short, chaste kiss. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Do it... piss your fucking pants, Sherlock. Soak them.”

And with that, all the fight went out of him. His body relaxed in the chair and his squirming stopped. A second later he looked down at himself, watching as the stain began to spread across the leg of his pants, down toward the floor. He reached to adjust himself, the other leg of his pants darkening as he urinated. The warm feeling of piss filling his pants was a huge turn on and he knew right then and there that he really did have this shameful fetish. It was his and he wasn’t going to deny it. Not that he could sitting in a chair flooding himself with his own piss as he let it flow in his pants.

Opening the button on his shorts, he pulled his cock free and stroked it a few times, urine still trickling from the tip of it down his fingers as he moved. Aiming it up toward his belly, he arched his hips and pushed, letting the final gush of it splatter across his abdomen, running down his sides as he emptied his bladder. Once he was done, he sat there, breathing hard, utterly soaking in his own piss, his cock growing hard in his hand. “John... I believe you were correct.”

“I believe I was,” John returned, taking his cock in hand and standing upright. “Do you want it, you dirty man?”

“I do.”

And that was all it took. In the next instant, John’s piss was splashing over Sherlock’s hand and cock as he stroked himself, his prick hardening to full arousal in his hand at the feeling of his flatmate’s piss raining down over him. This time, there was no denying he was doing this for pleasure. There was no excuse, no other reason, than the fact that he was turned on to the point that denying himself would have been a pointless endeavor ending in his cum staining the sheets tonight anyway.

As John relieved himself on Sherlock’s cock, the detective jerked off quickly, his orgasm not far off. He could feel it ramping up, boiling through his veins as he got closer and closer to it. “John,” he whined out, almost begging already, “my shirt.”

Without hesitation, John turned his stream on Sherlock’s shirt, letting out controlled spurts across either side of it and then right down the middle. He shifted closer, putting one leg up on the chair arm, his hand steadying himself on Sherlock’s shoulder as he leaned in, pressing his cock to Sherlock’s chest and just letting the rest of it loose with a groan. “I’m fucking pissing on you, Sherlock. Can you feel my warm piss running down your chest? Your cock is so hard from this... you’re going to cum for me again, aren’t you?” He ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair, tugging his face back so he could see him. “Cum.”

Sherlock’s hand worked faster, his breath barely coming in pants as he jerked his cock more furiously than he could ever recall having done before. John’s words set him on edge, made him more and more aroused with each one that passed the other man’s lips. The instruction sent him over the edge, finalizing the deal. He let out a sharp cry, hips jerking upward, and then he was spilling, his cum spurting over his hand as he continued to furiously jerk his cock throughout the entirety.

It was only when John eased himself back and reached down to take his hand from his cock that he stopped, just sitting there in his slowly cooling puddle of piss, his eyes wide, and his body humming with pleasure.

John chuckled and ran his fingers over Sherlock’s cheek. “You look utterly debauched.” And when Sherlock flushed, all John could do was smile.

**The End**


End file.
